Donna Lucia
by themuller
Summary: Eve Moneypenny was never one to turn down a challenge.
1. Chapter 1

Eve Moneypenny never was one to avoid a challenge. She had been given five minutes warning before Lucia Sciarra was dropped off at her door step by Felix Leiter. Q had packed his things in a hurry, worrying about their rogue mission being compromised by the lady in black. She stood tall in the small hallway of Moneypenny's flat. Tall and dignified. And utterly lost.

When Bond had met up with Q in her flat, laying the groundwork for a secret mission set by old M, Moneypenny had gotten the task to read up on the Sciarra's. Information had been scarce, especially on Lucia, but with Q's help the two of them had found small pieces of a puzzle that was this woman, who now stood still and silent a few feet away from the door that had been closed by Leiter and locked by Moneypenny.

"Uhm, would you like a cup of tea?" was all Moneypenny managed, wondering how to approach a member of Spectre.

Former member, she corrected herself, trying to avoid other lines of thinking while looking at the gorgeous, elegant woman in front of her.

Lucia considered her with tired eyes. She answered in a low voice, giving a small nod.

"Yes. Thank you."

Moneypenny went back to the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make her guest comfortable. Bond had given Q a short account about his night with Lucia. They had to keep her alive, since she must definitely knew more than she already had divulged to Bond. M, their old M, had been right when her last command–given from the grave–was for Bond to kill Marco Sciarra to begin the unravelling of Spectre. She knew Bond would be able to use his insufferable womanising to get the information they needed from his widow. And of course Bond had slept with her. Who wouldn't, Moneypenny thought before she could stop herself.

When the tea was ready, she put the mugs on the kitchen table and quietly asked Lucia to join her. Even now the woman responded hesitantly, movement restricted to the bare minimum needed to cover the few steps further away from the door and into the kitchen.

They sat in silence, Lucia's sad, soulful eyes staring unseeing at the table. Sipping the tea, Moneypenny went over the small bits and pieces they new about Lucia Sciarra. She had been one of Marco's prostitutes, before he had married her. She had been young at that time, eighteen maybe twenty years old. Not even Q had been able to find Lucia's birth name or even a reliable birthday, let alone anything about her parents. Lucia herself probably didn't know, being abducted from her parents at a young age, to be trafficked into prostitution.

Somehow she had gained Marco's trust and became his wife, managing to carve a small powerful base for herself within Spectre and Marco's own organisation. Keeping her position as his wife must have been difficult, Moneypenny surmised. Q had found evidence that Marco time and again had used his wife as a bargaining chip. She would have to seduce friends and enemies, for Marco to test loyalties, retrieve information, or make extortion possible. And she had been loyal to a fault. A loyalty that had given her respect, if some of the taped conversations of Marco's henchmen were anything to go by. But also a loyalty that came at a price.

With Bond killing her husband, Lucia had become a liability for Spectre. She knew too much, being a part of the game for so long.

Moneypenny wondered what Bond had planned for her. Did he really think Moneypenny would be able to turn Lucia? Or–Moneypenny hid a smile by lifting the mug–or could it be that Bond did know about Moneypenny's proclivities for tall, experienced women, especially women who had this incredibly majestic bearing and mysterious past?

Stupid fool, she scolded herself, Lucia is way out of my league.

A woman should have her dreams, her treacherous mind replied.

With a small sigh and a shake of her head, Moneypenny returned to more immediate challenges.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, hoping to get some kind of acknowledgement from Lucia.

She had barely touched her tea.

"What are you trying to do?"

Her melodic voice barely concealed her resentment.

"If I let you go hungry, I'm certain Bond will never forgive me," Moneypenny said. "Killing him is one thing, but neglecting one of his conquests–" she muttered sarcastically, shaking her head to indicate how unacceptable the latter was.

That got Lucia's attention.

"You killed Bond?"

She sat up straighter, if that even was possible, her eyes sparking a new kind of interest. She gave Moneypenny a once over that had her shivering with a mixture of anticipation and not too little trepidation. Moneypenny might be a well trained agent and Lucia a displaced, grieving widow–but if it came to a fight, Moneypenny wouldn't bet on who were to win.

"It's easy enough to kill him," Moneypenny said lightly. "It's the staying dead part he hasn't learned yet–but shooting him off the roof of a moving train and watching him fall several hundred feet down into a lake should count for something."

She winked at Lucia.

"Anybody else would certainly have been dead as soon as they'd hit the water," she complained wryly.

When a small, happy smile spread on Lucia's face, Moneypenny watched with increasing delight. Lucia's eyes were beaming even before her lips curved up. Her schooled, controlled mask slowly falling away.

"And he trusts you to take care of his captives?"

Now, Lucia was most definitely amused by the thought. It was as if a spark had brought her to life and Moneypenny could just sit and watch in awe. Gorgeous didn't cut it. Lucia was a bright light, utterly dazzling.

"You're not a captive."

Lucia frowned.

"Bond send you here for me to take care of you. To keep you safe."

To make love to you, Moneypenny wanted to add, but held her tongue. Barely. She could see when Lucia realised that something had been left unsaid. Her expressive face showing doubt and fear, before surprised disbelief took over. Then, her eyes went wide and with a small, almost wicked grin, Lucia sent Moneypenny's imagination on a wild spin.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucia Sciarra was a survivor. As long as she could remember, life had been challenge upon challenge. Beating her down, whenever she had been able to create a barely secure base for her to exist within. The past decade had provided new challenges in the form of young women trying to lure Marco away from her. Women, who had no idea what it meant to be the wife of an assassin; even less for being a member of the illusive organisation of Spectre. Lucia was both and paid the price each single day. Being property rather than an equal partner, used as commodity–a thing, for men to play with and women to fear.

It had been her unquestioning loyalty and her ruthlessness which had kept her alive. But now? No amount of loyalty could save her from Spectre's need to protect its organisation. She knew the notification of Marco's murder was her own death sentence. Yet, here she was. Alive; numb and confused, yes, but alive.

When Bond had touched her, violent and demanding at first, she had resigned herself to her fate. It would have been over in morning. By then, Spectre would know that Bond had killed the bodyguards who were meant to kill her. And Bond would leave her, because she had told him. Not everything, but enough to take her own revenge on an organisation that had kept her like a pet, like a tool since her teenage years.

When Bond had made love to her, he had been attentive to her needs. Patient and careful, so unlike the other men who had her before Bond. The morning came, and she had made peace with what was to come, convinced that Bond would leave her. But he made good on his promise. More than that, Felix Leiter treated her like the lady she never was. Expecting an interrogation room and torturing techniques that wouldn't leave traces, Leiter's polite ways stunned Lucia. Every small, respectful gesture only increased her confusion and anxiousness. She anticipated hidden motives, becoming certain Leiter and Bond worked for Spectre and just wanted her out of the country to better hide the body.

Leiter eventually opened the door to a flat for her to enter. They had made it all the way to London, and by now, Lucia was on the verge of a mental breakdown. The numbness had returned, keeping her functioning. The hall of the flat was well lit, cosy almost. Nothing like a secret prison, designed to break the captive. A young woman, dressed casually, met them. Eve Moneypenny, she was told was her name, all but stared at her. Lucia had seen lust in the eyes of men before, but Eve, Eve's desire was paired with genuine curiosity and–caring? Lucia kept her panic well-hidden. She had a lifetime to perfect the crucially vital art of keeping a schooled mask in place, never showing her real emotions.

But like Bond, Eve had been patient. She had given her the time and space, Lucia needed to take in the impressions and events of the last days. When Eve started talking, Lucia had been apprehensive. Watching her every move, every little twitch of a muscle, every blink of an eye, Lucia had waited to see the deception. But nothing was forthcoming. Eve had been genuine in her concern. Even the way Eve had tried to hide her desire for her had been out of regard for Lucia. The revelation that Eve had shot Bond had been the turning point. The whole situation too ridiculous to fully comprehend, her own tired and torn mind too close to breaking.

The smile and finally, the realisation that, yes, Eve wanted her, sparked a renewed will to live. Somewhere out of the depths of her soul, Lucia found a way back to the essence that once had helped her survive against all odds; that had helped her build the life that had been destroyed by Bond's actions. With a flash of clarity, she understood that this would be her chance to rebuild, no, to create another–a new–life for herself.

"No," she finally answered Eve's question. "I am not hungry."

She had laced the words with innuendo. She kept her eyes on Eve, the table becoming a wide, too wide obstacle between them. Eve sucked in a breath. Lucia acknowledged the unspoken question between them with a small, encouraging nod. Eve swallowed. The air between them became charged. Eve looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Eyes wide and pupils blown dark, she sat motionless. Waiting for Lucia to make the first move.

Lucia closed her eyes, tried to ground herself in the moment. She had to make herself vulnerable for this woman, for this lure of a new life. Not necessarily with Eve, but this would be a necessary step for a new beginning. To be the one who decides. Lucia opened her eyes and looked with wonder at Eve. How did she know? How did this beautiful young woman know, that Lucia had to be the one, who took the first step? She could see Eve's hands shaking, see how her breathing had increased. And Lucia had made her decision.

She stood, determined, and smiled. Eve returned the smile, still sitting down. Still waiting. Lucia beckoned Eve with a small a wave of her hand. Eve's smile became wider as she got up and indicated the bedroom by turning towards it, raising an eyebrow. Lucia blinked slowly, lasciviously, using every little movement of her body to exude her own desire. Eve's respond was a barely suppressed gasp, a shiver running through the length of her body.

Lucia stepped out of her high heels before entering the bedroom. The wall-to-wall carpet was soft under her feet. Eve stood expectantly beside the bed, and Lucia closed the distance between them. She lifted her hand and let her fingers trail along Eve's full lips, half open in a silent gasp. There was a playful glimpse in her eyes, a happiness which Lucia at first felt was out of place. But Eve opened her mouth, licking and sucking Lucia's fingers, and as her eyes continued to smile, her compliant demeanour changed. She leaned closer, pulling Lucia into a tight embrace, her hands finding their way under her clothes, unfastening her bra and continued adeptly undressing her. Lucia followed suit, divesting Eve of her clothes with equal expertise, revelling in the body revealed to her. Firm breasts and soft, dark skin–a stark, somehow alluring contrast to her own wrinkled, aged hands. Young and old, a lifetime of experience opposite the knowledge seeking fledgling–their eyes met, hungry, expectant. Their lips crushed openmouthed, tongues discovering, tasting. Their hands roaming eagerly over a yet unknown familiar body, touching, squeezing, pushing and pulling.

Lucia found herself on the bed, entwined with Eve. Kissing and nipping, one arm folded around Eve's back, keeping her close, wanting to taste every little part of her. Eve stretched, her hands getting hold of the head board, her legs spreading wide, opening up for Lucia. Kneeling, Lucia took in the sight of Eve, her eyes closed in bliss, her body writhing under Lucia's touch. She leaned down, her fingers trailing low, brushing over coarse, moistened hair–a telltale trail. With skilful fingers Lucia opened yielding folds, wet with lust. Eve pushed up against her fingers, small, desperate sounds urging her on. Once more Lucia sat up, both her hands working Eve open, eliciting louder noises, keening almost. And Lucia watched, fascinated by the unreserved trust with which Eve responded to her ministrations. Her movements became erratic, and she was begging now. Lucia kept her on the edge, just to savour the moment, the joy she brought herself by pleasuring Eve. Then, she twisted her fingers, pushing in and out. And Eve came. Her body arching, her begging turned into gasps for air and sobs of relief, as shudders continued to wreck through her body. Lucia lied down beside her, turning face to face with her, watching her closely as her breathing slowed and she opened her eyes with a deep satisfied sigh. Hazy with contentment, she grinned and placed a sloppy kiss on Lucia's lips. Then she seemed to remember something, frowning a bit and looking questioningly at Lucia.

"Shh," Lucia kissed her forehead. "Sleep, Eve. Sleep, and let us talk tomorrow."

Eve blinked gratefully.

"Thank you, Lucia," she whispered sleepily.

Lucia managed to get them under the cover with a bit of twisting and turning. Having tugged them in safely, she listened. The silence only broken by the quiet, even breathing of another human body beside her, halfway draped over her, held tight.

Before Bond had found her, Lucia had felt like a lifeless flower. Her beauty preserved by hanging her upside down, dried up. Arid.

Making love to her ignited a spark, small, but persistent flame. A hunch, a fragile fantasy of another life, of new possibilities.

Making love to Eve, turned the flame into fire. A deep desire to believe, to hope for a new chance. For more than mere survival. And she was prepared to take this chance.


End file.
